


First Encounters of the Volatile Kind

by notunbroken



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M, likely the closest thing to crack!fic I'll ever write, probably AU, so maybe not!, though we'll probably never know for sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7791763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notunbroken/pseuds/notunbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nicole gets curious at a family dinner, Andy is forced into telling the story of how he and Sharon first met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Encounters of the Volatile Kind

He wasn't able to wiggle out of what was described as “a family dinner”, and, with Gus at work, Rusty feels like an extra limb — weird, unuseful, and ready to be chopped off — by the time dessert rolls around. 

This becomes especially true when Dean and Nicole get to talking about their office, all of the state-regional-managerial-whateverial awards their agency is racking up. Southern California Textile Firm of the Century, that kind of thing. Rusty is used to listening in on conversations about grisly murders and long interrogations like chess matches, lawyers and criminals too shortsighted or cocky to call them. Conversation on the benefits of upholsterers over fashion clients doesn’t have any appeal up against that. 

Rusty downs his cherry pie in a drawn-out and silent process, alternating with sips of coffee, timing it lucky so that he’s crunching through the last crust edge as Dean wraps up his verbal tour of the Fashion District. “Oh, and just the other day we were down at the old Levi’s warehouse. I heard the two of you,” he gestures across the table to Sharon and Andy, “worked a case there.”

“That was,” Andy frowns, “well...”

“A long time ago,” Sharon finishes with a light shrug. “Those details all run together after awhile.”

But Sharon doesn’t just  _ forget _ details or mix them up. Rusty’s heard her recount cases from when she was in patrol, however long ago  _ that _ was, described down to the color of a fleeing suspect’s shoelaces.  She must be glossing over something good.

Unaware of the cover-up happening across the table. Nicole places her fork on her plate. Her brow knots into a curious expression that must be genetic, as familiar as it is. “You know, speaking of  _ a long time ago _ , Dad, I don’t think I’ve ever heard about when when you and Sharon first met.”

Rusty sits up, sensing a promising change in the topic of conversation. ‘Promising’ meaning, ‘Anything other than fabric sales’. “Yeah, me either.”

Andy’s mouth drops open and his eyes slide to Sharon, who is smiling like she knows the punchline to a joke that no one’s even started telling. That’s when Andy starts with the word avalanche. “Well, uh, you can define that a lot of ways, you know?” He clears his throat, wincing a bit as he continues. “Do you mean the first time we spoke, or the first time we had a full conversation, or worked together, or talked about something other than work, or what? I mean,” he forces a laugh, “there are differences.”

Dean nudges Nicole with his elbow. “It sounds like there might be a story here.”

“That’s because there  _ is _ a story here,” Sharon says, “and  _ someone _ is trying to avoid it.”

“I’m not avoiding,” Andy picks up his water, only to set it down again. “I might not be the best one to tell it, though—”

Sharon turns to him. Her smile has changed into something just this side of what Rusty refers to as The Danger Zone. “Oh, I really think you are.”

“Why me?”

“You  _ know  _ why.” She lifts her chin, as if trying to identify a scent in the air. “Also because I don’t think I’ve actually ever heard your retelling of the whole thing.”

“There’s a ‘whole thing’?” Rusty asks.

Sharon’s eyes don’t leave Andy. “Yes, there is.”

“Right.” Andy clears his throat again, with more force this time, and smooths his napkin against the table. He turns to Nicole. “Well, so one day at the Academy, I was at the shooting range—”

Sharon interrupts him with a knowing smile. “No, no. Start with the backstory.”

“Seriously?” 

“Without context,  _ I  _ sound like the instigator.”

“Well…” As he draws the word out, Sharon’s expression sharpens into a glare again. Andy relents, starting his story over. “Okay. So I was about five months into the Academy and I was, let’s say, a little less than impressed with the two female candidates in my class.” He drops a hand onto Sharon’s shoulder. “Neither of whom is sitting at this table, by the way.”

“Yes, but there were a total of six women there altogether at the time, and I was one of the other four.”

“You have a better memory for details, you sure you don’t want to tell it?”

Her answer is immediate. “Not a chance. So you were unimpressed with the women in your class. And how did you make that fact known?” She asks this in the sing-song manner of someone who already knows the answer.

“Can we just leave it at, ‘I was being a loud-mouth jerk in a public place?’”

It’s almost as if they’ve forgotten there are other people at the table, the way they’re going. Business as usual, in other words.

“That doesn’t really capture the brunt of it,” Sharon says. Andy hangs his head and looks over at her, like the weight of her request is too heavy for one man to carry. She cocks her head to match the angle of his, smirking.“You don’t need to worry about offending me. I was there, remember?”

“Yeah, and clearly you’re  _ still _ offended by having seen it.” He straightens up and takes a deep breath, then says, “I complained, loudly, in the middle of the mess hall at lunch, about the skill, or lack thereof, of the women in my class during tactical exercises.”

Sharon winces slightly, as if listening to a singer miss a note. “Mm, it wasn’t quite that  _ specific _ though, was it?”

“Fine. I complained, loudly, in the middle of the mess hall at lunch, about how women, in general, are terrible at driving and shooting.”

“And?”

He sighs heavily. “And I might have said something about how women should just stick with being dispatchers--”

Across the table, Nicole gasp-laughs. “Dad!”

Andy points at her, matching her reaction. “But  _ that _ I didn’t even remotely believe. I was playing the room at that point. It was not a rare opinion at the time.”

“Wow,” Rusty says, wishing that he would have had the sense to record this half-story-half-interrogation on his phone. History like this deserves to be preserved.

Andy sweeps his upturned palm to the side, indicating his audience. “I’m freely admitting that I was being an asshole, okay? The Academy was a rough time for me.” He glances at Sharon. “ _ Now _ can I move on to the shooting range?”

She nods. “Yes, I think that sets the scene.”

“So, maybe a week after that, uh,  _ display _ , I’m at the shooting range, getting some extra practice in before my qualification. I’d probably already gone through five or six clips and I was trying to reload another. It was right around noon, the wind was kicking up dirt everywhere and it was hot as hell.

“I’m struggling to slide bullets into my clip when I feel this...burning sensation on the side of my face. I look over to the station next to mine and find,” he gestures at Sharon like a game show host would point out the grand prize. “A pony-tailed, very angry-looking woman holding a gun.”

“Well, we  _ were  _ at the shooting range.” 

“Yeah, well, since we’re covering  _ context  _ today: the entire rest of the range was empty, other than the instructor overseeing things from the back.” Sharon tips her shoulder upward a little too nonchalantly. Andy continues. “Anyway, this very angry armed woman — who I’ve never met, of course — is glaring me down from about five feet away. Thus the extra warmth on my face. And there in the wind and heat like a pit of hell, she loads her clip without so much as fumbling a bullet  _ and without bothering to stop glaring at me long enough to look down while she does it. _ ”

“Practice makes perfect,” Sharon says, taking a sip of water.

“Wait, wait.” Rusty interrupts the story, his bullshit detector going off. “Mom, how did you even know it was him?”

“At the Academy, your PT shirts have your surname printed on the front and back,” she runs her hand over Andy’s chest, demonstrating the positioning, “in big block letters.”

“Yeah, all to help the instructors scream at you more effectively,” Andy says.

Nicole smirks. “Oh but Dad, I’m sure no one ever had to yell at you, right?”

“No, never.”

“Uh-huh,” Sharon smiles. “In any case, those shirts made it easy for me to find the loudmouth from lunch.”

Andy crooks a thumb toward her while talking toward Nicole. “See? She was stalking me.”

“No,” she drags the word out, as if the extra seconds show just how wrong he is. “I was passing the range, saw you down there, and was reminded of that  _ fantastic _ speech of yours. I thought you could use another example.”

“Well,” Andy says, “stalking or not, it was unnerving. I was standing there thinking that I’d finally said something that was gonna get me shot. Forget South Central -- I wasn’t even going to make it to my first patrol.”

“I’m  _ sure _ all of that was going through your head at the time.”

“I was a little startled.” Sharon hums noncommittally, giving the impression that this had been her goal. Andy turns his attention back across the table. “I wouldn’t have put it past her to plug me, honestly,  because  _ I knew what I’d said was stupid _ . Okay? I knew. And in the time since, karma has gifted me with several female COs that are extremely good at what they do.”

“Okay, Andy.” Sharon pats his arm, a gesture of forgiveness. “The story.”

“Right. So I’m standing there, like a deer in the headlights—”

“— looking more than a little like a heat stroke victim, as I recall.”

“She loads her weapon, turns downrange, empties her clip, and shoots a perfect target. I’m, of course, watching this and having flashbacks to every dumb thing I said that she may have overheard. She pulls in the target and holds it up between us for a good few seconds, taking it in and making sure I see it, too. 

“Then she drops it and picks up the glare again while she holsters her gun and rolls up the target. I’m still standing there holding a bullet in one hand and my clip in the other, watching all of this. And she just turns and heads back up the berm, with, y’know, a hair flip as she goes, for good measure.”

Sharon scoffs. “I don’t flip my hair.”

Rusty adds on, without thinking, “Oh yeah you do.” This earns him a stare and a raised eyebrow. But he gets back-up.

“You do,” Andy says. “It’s very uh,  _ endearing _ .. And at the time it was kind of the perfect parting shot.” He looks back to Nicole. “My mouth was hanging open, the whole deal. I inhaled a throatful of dirt, ended up doubled over and hacking up my lungs. Meanwhile, I could hear the instructor in the back, laughing his ass off.”

Sharon gets nostalgic. “Oh, Sergeant Davis. He really enjoyed that.”

“I was glad the old grouch could get a laugh on my behalf. Anyway,” Andy settles back into his seat, having finished his story, “that’s when I first met Sharon.” 

They exchange one of those looks they always do, like they’ve just traded sappy greeting cards or watched a movie where the lead couple walks off into the sunset. (Not like Rusty’s actually ever seen them do these things, but those looks match up with Hallmark and Netflix commercials better than any other point of reference.) In reality, of course, they’ve just admitted that their first encounter involved sexism and intimidation with guns.

Weirdly, so weirdly, it fits.

“Oh my God.” Nicole cracks up and claps a few times. “I’ve never been so glad to have asked a question. Really.”

Having been left with far more questions than answers, Rusty gets started with, “So you didn’t even talk, then?”

Sharon shakes her head. “I’d like to think I didn’t  _ need _ to say anything to get my point across.”

“No, definitely not,” Andy says. “We kinda had to...work our way up to talking. Understandably.”

“And? So?” Rusty prods, “What happened then?”

Sharon reaches for the check with a low laugh. “ _ That _ is a story for another time.”

**Author's Note:**

> I cranked the majority of this one out in a single session a few months back, which almost never happens. But the concept grabbed hold and stuck around until I had time to sit down and type it out, even if I thought it was just a little too silly to see the light of day. After a long percolation and a little patching here and there, I've decided it's fit for public consumption. Hopefully it brings a just-believable laugh to someone's day.
> 
> This also turned out to be my first experiment with Rusty POV, even if it's minimal. I felt like this one just had to be told from his perspective.
> 
> Thanks, as always, for reading!


End file.
